The REAL Heroes
by hen.in.the.woods
Summary: This is a compilation of fears under the surface of our heroes. It used to just be Hogan, under the title "RHIP, Right?" but the other heroes knocked at the door and demanded I let them join their CO.
1. RHIP, Right?

A/N: RHIP is US military slang for rank hath its privileges.

* * *

 _"Wobert? I'm scared."_

 _"It'll be okay. See? I've got you."_

Hogan jerked out of the dream. He didn't want to repeat it again. He had been his entire life. But not today. He just wasn't up to it.

He went over and sat at his desk. But as he started some spare paperwork, the images popped into his mind again. He held his head.

 _"I hurt, Wobert. I want Mommy. *_ sniffle* _I've got an ouchie."_

 _"I know, Penny. Just hold on. Hold on. I promise, Mommy will be here soon."_

Hogan jerked as he felt pressure on his shoulder.

"Colonel? Roll call in ten," Kinch said softly. Hogan looked up into Kinch's eyes. He cringed inside at the trust he saw in them. He didn't deserve it. On the outside, however, he smiled.

"I'll be right out," he assured Kinch. Kinch gave him a slightly worried look, but left.

Hogan quickly got dressed and launched into the barracks with his usual gusto. Then, everybody lined up with their customary jibes at Shultz. Hogan looked down the line.

 _"Sir, are you sure we want to make another pass? It's suicide!"_

 _"Yes. We have to get that factory bombed. If it's not us, it's somebody else. Now do as you're told!"_

 _"Yes, sir!"_

Hogan shook his head. He then joined his men in their jibes as he did every morning. He, however, went straight to the top dog and needled Klink himself. After a couple of minutes, Klink dismissed the men and shook a fist at Hogan before twirling back into the kommandantur. Hogan smiled at the familiarity of it all. Klink always helped him get his mind off his thoughts.

"Sir? Any new missions?" Carter asked eagerly once they got back into the barracks.

"None that I'm aware of," he said. And thank goodness. The flood of guilt and worry he always kept at bay was pretty close to the surface today.

 _"Penny. Don't you dare go to sleep."_

 _"But I'm sweepy."_

 _"Don't. Or I swear I'll tell Mom about the time you ate all the cookies."_

 _"But you pwomised not to!"_

 _"And I won't, if you stay awake."_

 _"You're mean, *_ yawn* _Wob."_

He started as Kinch spoke close to his ear. When had he gotten there?

"Actually, I just got one from London. And it's going to be a doozy. They want us to sabotage a factory just outside of Hammelburg—"

"Gee! But that's easy. We could do it in our sleep! What's so hard about that?" Carter interrupted.

"It's hard because..." He paused for emphasis, eyeing Carter, who blushed. "they want us to sabotage another factory that same night. To avoid an influx of guards that would make it impossible to sabotage for a while."

"Okay, we've done similar things before—" Hogan started to say.

"And... the Underground can't help. London says they're all tied up for the next two weeks."

 _"Penny? Penny! Wake up! Don't die on me; you can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I thought we could do it. I really did!"_

"So le' me get this straight. Without the Underground's 'elp, we're supposed to waltz into two factories—at the same time—tell the guards to grab a kip while we adjust this fuse 'ere, and then whistle and wave goodbye as we get in our stolen vehicles to make our merry way back 'ome, all before roll call?" Newkirk asked skeptically.

"I'm afraid so," Kinch said.

 _"SIR! The tail's been hit and three engines are out! What are your orders!?"_

 _"Bail! We can't limp this thing back to base! Not this time! Everybody, OUT!"_

"Well, tha' would be the perfect end to a bloody wonderful day in me eyes," Newkirk said sarcastically.

"It's not that bad! We can do it, right, Colonel?" Carter turned to him.

 _"We *_ cough* _got the factory, didn't we?"_

 _"Yes, Powell. We did."_

 _"Good. Tell... tell my wife I love her. I love her so much it hurts."_

 _"Paul, no! Tell her yourself. I promise, when we make it out of here—"_

 _"We both know I'm a goner. Please, do this for me?"_

 _"...Yes."_

"Colonel? Sir?" Everyone was looking at him with concern.

He looked into the eyes of the men around him. The men under his command. The men he ordered into danger every hour of every day.

He pushed down his worry.

He pushed down his guilt.

"You heard London. Let's get started. It'll work. I promise." Everybody nodded. Everybody split. Everybody did exactly what he said.

Sometimes, he hated being in command.


	2. All Alone

A/N: This is Carter's story, and you can thank L.E. Wigman and Wind-in-the-Sage for the inspiration and the title: The REAL Heroes.

* * *

23:06

Carter started tapping his toe.

He checked his watch again, then squinted into the dark woods.

Where was Newkirk? he wondered. He could feel the chill taking up residence in his bones, the damp wood of the half-rotten barn pressing against his back. He'd been waiting nearly half an hour to meet up with Newkirk after he set the fuse to the bridge. Granted, he'd been a little early since he didn't have to dodge any guards as planned, but still, Newkirk was now—he checked his watch—ten minutes late. He was _never_ that late, even when he'd been messing around with a fraulein. He always made sure it didn't impede his duties. Carter crinkled his brow as he stared vainly into the stagnant shadows.

23:11

He started pacing.

They wanted to be _very_ far away when the bomb went off. Preferably back in camp, but if not, at least several miles away. First, so they didn't get pounded with any debris, and second, so they were innocently tucked back in bed at the stalag being good little POWs that not even Hochstetter could point a finger at. And with that thought, and the little minute hand of his watch unapologetically sliding to the next minute, Carter's mind took off.

23:13

Carter could usually repress his very imaginative mind, but not in a situation like this. There was no way he could chain all his horrible fears up. They slipped right out of their bonds, just like Newkirk out of his locks.

He'd never leave me... right? Deeply ashamed, he corrected himself severely. Of course not! He's my friend. We'd die for each other!

He nodded sharply and decisively to the trees nearest him, challenging them to contradict him. They passively looked on, unconcerned, perhaps knowing things he did not.

23:14

 _Everything was green. He was running through a forest, his tiny feet slapping against the soft earth. His breath came in ragged gasps for life. Away. I need to get away. His toe caught on something and he slammed into the earth. Tears started softly dripping down his chubby face, the scrapes on his knees and hands and the great fear of something behind him. He couldn't quite recall at the moment. All he knew was a gaping emptiness inside and the certainty that he was alone. All alone in the world._

He couldn't just be gone. Not like— He paused. No, not like them. Impossible. His thoughts strayed to a different line of thinking. If not that, then maybe he was tied up with something. Relieved, he leaned against a tree. He was there a blissful, but brief, moment before his brows drew sharply together as his mind started informing him of all the definitions of 'tied up.'

23:17

He turned at the snap of a twig breaking. He held his breath, but heard nothing more.

An owl hooted in the distance, low and keening.

There was a rustle of leaf on leaf.

Newkirk... stop tormenting me. Just walk out from behind that tree already. He looked at it expectantly, like his will alone could summon Newkirk from wherever he was. Still, only the nightime noises accosted his overactive senses. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of terrible visions, but could not escape.

Newkirk, curled against a beating, gleeful Germans pouncing.

Newkirk, thrown to the ground in cuffs, a triumphant traitor laughing.

Newkirk, savagely staring down the barrel of a gun, blue eyes flashing.

23:20

He opened his eyes and forced his mind into other thoughts, the feelings of horror and abandonment almost overtaking him. However, in his angst to _not_ think about Newkirk, his mind pulled a very old memory from its recesses, the kind that gets purposely stuffed behind the filing cabinets.

 _His eyes flicked open and he stared up at the dark ceiling. There was a small spot darker from the rest of the whiteness surrounding it, a remnant of the crayon he flung up there last year. He turned his head and traced the window edge with his eyes. His muscles felt stagnant, like they just needed to_ move _. He flipped onto his side and shivered slightly at the breeze it caused to sneak in with him under the sheets. He looked at the outline of the tree outside his window. The emptiness of the room expanded, pressing him into the bed. He felt he couldn't breathe, he was so lonely. Finally, he had enough and jumped out of bed. He softly padded to the door of his room and timidly looked out. Ma wanted him to stay in his own bed and be a big boy now, but maybe just one more night...?_

 _Silently, he crept to the door of her room. It was cracked open. He heard quiet noises coming from inside. It sounded like whimpering. Curious, he pushed the door open._

 _"Ma?" he asked. A dark figure turned at the sound._

 _"So this is what you're hiding," a deep, scary voice purred. The man took a step toward him._

 _"No! Andrew, run!" He knew that voice. If he didn't leave, he was in trouble. Still, he stood there in terror and confusion. It was dark, so dark. What was going on? Something scary was coming closer. His mother launched herself at the figure. "RUN! NOW!" The desperation of it jolted him into action. The woman's scream echoed in his mind as he stumbled out of the room and took off running. A wail of pain took over the night, following him as he ran out the door._

 _No. No. No. No. It formed a mantra in his head, each word dropping like his foot on the ground._

"Ma."

The pit of emptiness, abandonment, _aloneness_ tore at his heart. God, he missed her. It had been so long.

23:26

Carter sat on the ground, his emotions drained. Where was Newkirk? He couldn't handle the loneliness much longer. Slowly, Carter became aware of the damp earth under his fingers and a growing realization inside his soul. Newkirk _was_ coming back because if he didn't... Carter might just break.

23:27


	3. Unfinished

Unfinished

Stirring. Cutting. Chopping. Sneaking. Teasing. Bribing. Steaming. Pausing. Thinking. Stirring.

Hurting.

Lebeau paused in his inner frenzy of neverending circles of motion. He was skimming the surface and he knew it.

No, can't think. I just can't think about that.

He stared back down at his swirling cooking pot. Stirring. He let the cloud of steam surround him again, cutting off his view of the barracks. Like it never even existed.

He imagined a field full of the most striking buttercups he'd ever seen. The deepest yellow and the most enveloping green awed him in their splendor. How beautiful it was and how utterly perfect. He slowly walked through, no words passing his lips, nothing to break the beauty.

Then, just when he was almost completely convinced that the field was the only real thing there ever was, he heard a voice.

"LeBeau."

It was an all too familiar voice, nagging at him, pulling him from his tranquility. He ignored it and picked up his pace. He looked around again, trying to regain the emotions from just a moment ago, but the field had turned dark. His heart clenched in worry. What was happening?

He heard a child's soft giggle from right behind him. He whipped around to see a little boy, not yet seven, staring at him. As soon as he made eye contact, the boy smiled at him and took off running.

 _No!_ he tried to yell, but nothing came out. He took off in a dead sprint towards the boy, who was now very far away. He must get to him or something awful would happen. A mist sprang up. Where was he? Where _was_ he? A gunshot rang out.

The mist cleared.

He was on the streets of Paris and the little boy lay dead on the pavement, in his sister's trembling arms, a dirty _Boche_ towering over them. A deep well of anger, agony, and despair ran through him and he launched himself at the German. It all disappeared a moment later.

"Louis."

He quickly turned at the whisper at his feet.

"Jacques."

He fell to his knees, his friend's bloodied face burned into his memory.

"Jacques, it's going to be okay. I am here now." His friend, with his soft, deep brown eyes, just smiled at him sadly, knowing—as only one so close to death can—the truth. He closed his eyes for the last time. LeBeau stumbled away from him with a shaking hand over his mouth, his eyes glassy.

The next thing he knew, he was in the buttercup field again, the harsh shades of yellow and green grating on his nerves.

And he was shaking like a leaf in a gale.

No. No. How did they find me? He squeezed his eyes shut.

"LeBeau."

The voice was more insistent. Please, no. It will break me. I— I can't feel. Not now. If I start crying, I will never stop. He opened his eyes. He saw a wall of grey. It was a comforting shade.

He let the mist envelop him.

"Le-Beau?"

He looked into Schultz's questioning eyes.

"Can I— try some?" he asked hesitantly, pointing to the boiling pot. LeBeau pasted on a quick scowl and made shooing motions with his hands.

"In a moment, Schultzie! It is not done! You can't try something half-finished!" he snapped, appalled at the thought.

"N—no. No," Schultz stuttered and took a step back from the ruffled Frenchman. "Of course not. Ne-ver! I know noth-ing!" He paused. "But, perhaps, in a few minutes?" he asked hesitantly, his whole body poised to flee. LeBeau looked up at him, this anomaly of the Nazi world.

"When it is finished," he said firmly and turned back to his stewing.


	4. Anything

A/N: Sorry for the long wait between updates! I've been getting finals done. I hope you enjoy this experiment of sorts. :)

* * *

The Underground was hunkered down.

Three missing agents in three weeks.

It was unsettling.

So unsettling, it'd been tickling Newkirk's nightmares the past couple of nights, dredging sludge from places long since buried.

Newkirk was on edge.

He surveyed the room full of what he considered as close as family from his perch on the bunk. Hogan's relaxed shoulders and Kinch's quick wink confirmed what he already knew. He had their trust in full.

If they only knew.

The card's soft edges made their comforting, rhythmic flutter back and forth and forth and back between his fingers. So steady. The three of clubs jumped out with barely a glimmer before tucking itself back in with its brothers. Back and forth. The slight breeze on Newkirk's palm made the corner of his mouth curve slightly upward. His muscles relaxed ever so slightly.

They had a mission tonight.

 _"Torch, Teaket'le, 'ere, now. Meet at the corner of King and Great Earl when you're done. It should be a quick one." He paused before continuing. "Make sure you take care of the uh, package at ANY cost." Bo turned his sharp eye on Teakettle. "And I mean anything, Peter. Or a sweet lit'le sparrow you know quite well might not be singin' in the mornin'." Then, Torch and Bo were gone. The cold wind pierced his core in the wake of the blantant threat. His throat was sandpaper and he struggled to swallow._

 _Anything._

"Oi, Newkirk! Peel yourself out of that dark corner and come join us!" Olsen needled. Newkirk muttered something imperceptible, but definitely not flattering.

Hogan interrupted before Olsen could lash back. "Okay, Corporal. Come down and join us for the debriefing. This is going to be a tough nut to crack." Newkirk slowly tucked his cards into his breast pocket and stiffly crawled down the bunk ladder. He graciously gave his moodiest glare to Olsen and Olsen stuck his tongue out at him.

"We're infiltrating Gestapo HQ," Hogan said. That got Newkirk's attention.

"Ya' can't be serious, Colonel! Whatever 'appened to low profile?" he fussed.

"We need to gain intel on the missing underground agents. There have been too many for just coincidence."

"Bu—"

"No buts."

"You aren't scared, are you?" Olsen piped up.

 _He could watch his breath quicken tonight. Too long, too long. His stiff and almost numb fingers worked efficiently on the sticky window lock. He silently dropped into the room and slid behind a chair._

 _It was dark and quite sparse. Bo had said the package would be obvious. He quickly scanned the room. There was only a bed and chair. What? What was he looking for? He froze as there was a slight shuffle and a sigh._

 _No. Oh no._

He watched them look at him expectantly. "No, 'm not scared. Just... worried. What if we're caught?"

"We're always at risk of being caught. We just bluff our way out." Hogan paused before ominously adding, "And if we can't get out, we don't let anything slip."

Newkirk shrugged imperceptibly farther into the uncomfortable slouch he was in.

If they only knew.

 _She must have seen Bo's face. She must have. That's the only reason he would risk getting caught for murder—if the coppers were right on his trail._

And I'm caught in the middle of all this, _he thought. He paused for a moment in the suffocating darkness, no longer the comforting blanket of protection it always was, his mind on fire, trying to think of an option where no one would have to die. None came to mind._

 _If he did nothing, Mavis would die. If he followed orders, this innocent girl would die. If he turned Bo in, Bo would somehow get word out to probably kill all three of them. Newkirk didn't have enough time to discredit him. And if he killed Bo..._

 _Well, he couldn't snuff Bo out— his network was too deeply entrenched in the bowels of London's criminal sewer. If Bo was gone, another would take his place. And that man would be out for revenge. He might do something worse. No, that wasn't an option._

 _He approached the bed._

"Got it?" Hogan was looking at him strangely. He quickly nodded his consent before tucking his head down and pulling out his cards again.

 _He stared into her eyes—her small, innocent, sweet eyes—and he saw another's. He had to choose. One of these shining pairs of eyes would lose their spark tonight and only he could decide._

 _Why? How had he gotten in this deep? A small voice answered. Ya' know, Peter. You always 'ave. It's always been for 'er and it always will be._

 _Anything._

He continued to look at the shuffling cards, so steady in their dance.

 _As he saw the light leave her eyes, his world shuttered and dimmed..._

 _He sat in the chair for a long time afterwards. He never did know how long or how he got home. He couldn't recall the memory. The one thing, though, that was crystal clear even as he felt himself dying inside was this: She must_ never _find out._

The others could only contemplate what they would do at the end, when they were pushed to the very limits of a human's endurance. They only imagined and hoped. But him... _He_ knew. He knew what he would do at the end.

Right now, he had their trust. If they only knew he would do _anything_ for them.

That was dangerous in war.


	5. Ripples Underneath

Kinch sat at the radio, staring at the cold, metallic dials. He heard shuffling in the fitting room. Must be Newkirk and Carter changing for the mission, he thought. Carter was going to blow a ball-bearing plant while Newkirk, LeBeau, and Hogan were going to sneak into General Meier's office to get battle plans during a party. The shuffling got closer. A blond head with a black cap poked into the doorway.

"Hi-ya, Kinch!" Carter's enthusiastic voice pressed against the dense dirt. Kinch smiled.

"Hey, Carter. It's nice to see you, too," he said.

"Any last info?" a sly voice practically whispered in his ear. He almost hit the ceiling.

"Geez, Newkirk! You could've given me a heart attack!" Kinch said crossly as he mock clutched his chest.

"You? Taken down by a mere fright? I don't believe it," Newkirk said in jest. He flashed Kinch a grin. Kinch waved him off.

"I'm more fragile than you realize. That's why I'm left here so often, you know," he joked. The joke fell flat with the slight hitch in his voice. Kinch saw a flicker of concern pass over Newkirk's face and quickly said, "No more info, by the way. You're all set to meet up with LeBeau and Hogan at the car right outside of camp. Good luck."

"See you in a few hours!" Carter waved as he practically flew to the door.

Newkirk slowly followed. "Umm, guys?" They turned back. "Stay safe," Kinch said. Carter nodded and Kinch thought he saw a light turn on in Newkirk's brain, but it could have just been a trick of the dim lighting.

"You too," Carter said. Newkirk rolled his eyes, and then they were gone.

Kinch dropped his shoulders and leaned back in his chair. And that was the very problem. He _was_ safe. As safe as one could possibly be in the middle of Nazi Germany. And they weren't. They were probably as unsafe as one could possibly be. He contemplated the ceiling. Waiting. He twirled his pencil, then set it down decisively. It was always worse when all of them were gone at once. The thought that he could lose them _all_ in one night— He got up and started to pace. And he was stuck here. After a minute, he sat down again and opened his novel. He closed it immediately afterwards. He put his chin on his arm and watched the second hand on his clock tick-tick-tick.

An hour later, a soft voice startled him out of his deep contemplation. "Newkirk? Is that you? You shouldn't be here for another two hours," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the almost haunted gloom around him. A quick thought about lightbulbs burning out flickered through his mind before he heard the reply. It was a lot closer. His heart rate went up without him really knowing why.

Newkirk spoke through his heavy breathing, and it was savage. "Of course it's bloody well me! And it's only me, Kinch. Why weren't you there? WHY!?" The anguish in his voice was too hard to listen to. Kinch's stomach flipped. This wasn't happening. "I trusted you, Kinch! They're all dead. Every last one of 'em." Newkirk was sobbing now. "It's your fault, you hear me? Their blood is on your 'ands, Kinch. Yours!"

"I— No—" he sputtered.

"Yours," Newkirk repeated again.

"But I couldn't do anything. I was ordered to stay here!" he said desperately.

"Oh, blame it on the Colonel why don't you. 'e's gone. And you could have prevented it if you 'ad been there. You could 'ave." Kinch was drowning, drowning in a sea of guilt.

"But..." he whispered.

"But," Newkirk mocked. There was silence in the dark. Then, Newkirk's voice was everywhere, but... it wasn't Newkirk. It was him. "Yours," his voice whispered.

He felt a rushing sensation and his head snapped up. He blinked in the sudden light. He jerkily got to his feet and rushed to the hallway. Nobody. It wasn't real.

Numbly, he walked back to his chair and dropped heavily into it. He took a slow, deep breath. It wasn't real. They would be fine. And it wouldn't— it _wouldn't_ be his fault.

And he pushed it down.

Again.


End file.
